


Deep Thoughts

by MeiLing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Flirting (Good Omens), Crowley's Wrestling Statue (Good Omens), Ficlet, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23725786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeiLing/pseuds/MeiLing
Summary: Aziraphale questions Crowley's taste in art. Crowley always welcomes questions.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Deep Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny story about The Statue in Crowley's flat - the one of Good and Evil "wrestling." (For reference, search "good omens angel statue," and Neil Gaiman's conversation with production manager Michael Ralph should come up.) I feel like this is a discussion that happens in one form or another every so often.
> 
> I don't own the characters or the statue.
> 
> Thank you for clicking on my story!

They stood silently for quite some time. Aziraphale, hands clasped behind his back, faced the statue. Crowley's hands were shoved, more or less, into the pockets of his very snug trousers, his body angled toward Aziraphale.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and quirked an eyebrow at Crowley. Crowley made his eyes wide and innocent behind his sunglasses.

"It's art," he drawled.

"Mm," the angel murmured skeptically.

"It symbolizes The Eternal Struggle. Poses all the Big Questions. You know, the ones you and I are most concerned about."

Aziraphale reached into his coat pocket, retrieved his phone, and flipped it open. (Leave it to Aziraphale to make sure that when he finally got a cell phone, it was already outdated. Crowley wrinkled his nose in such a way that it might have been disgust or fondness. Or more likely both.)

"Let me see," he said, opening his messages while Crowley rolled his eyes. "The last question you asked me was, 'Go out or takeaway?'"

"Well, two occult beings -"

"One occult. One ethereal."

"Whatever. Entities have to eat."

"And the one before that was, 'Are thumbs fingers, or are they their own thing? Just thumbs?'" Aziraphale snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into his pocket before clasping his hands again.

"It's. I mean. It's a valid question. And anyway -" He jostled his shoulders in the general direction of the statue. "- it's still art. You know. Doesn't even have to mean anything. Just have to like it."

"And you, erm, like it?" Crowley responded by smirking. "Right." Aziraphale looked back at the statue and tilted his head, as if a slight altering in perspective would help him make sense of it.

Suddenly, the demon's demeanor changed. Where he had been arms akimbo and jutting hips only moments before, his human form was now one long, lithe line; and he seemed to slither into Aziraphale's space rather than merely lean.

"You know what they sssay, angel," he said, his tone low and slow and oily. "Sssometimes, life imitatesss art." He waited until Aziraphale's attention was back on him before waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Aziraphale huffed a soft, breathy laugh. "Is that the best you can do?"

Crowley made an expression that was the facial version of a shrug. "S'nuff. Usually." He dipped his chin so his sunglasses slid down his nose, allowing him to turn the full force of his golden gaze on the man-shaped being next to him. "Izzit working?"

"I don't think you're a terribly competent demon."

"Maybe." He grinned, a wicked grin full of teeth that Aziraphale secretly found irresistible. Had for all these millennia. "But you're not always a terribly competent angel."

Aziraphale tried to look affronted while he suppressed a delicious sort of shiver. But then the corners of his lips tugged upward and his eyes twinkled. "Nobody's perfect."

"Lucky me."

"Might be. But only after we take care of The Eternal Question."

"Dinner?" Crowley correctly guessed.

"I, uh, vote for staying in," he said pointedly. "What do you say, dear fellow?"

"Me, too. Feel like...waxing philosophical tonight."

Aziraphale sighed dramatically, almost distracting Crowley from noticing how the angel glanced at the demon's mouth. "So many questions..."

Crowley extracted one hand from its pocket to hook his fingers in between the buttons of Aziraphale's waistcoat and pull him closer. "So much time…," he promised.


End file.
